Dude, really?
After being Mr. Fast and Furious of the Inca Trail, now, today, he suddenly decided to plod behind everyone? Really? With Quattro just feet behind me, I felt self-conscious, and not only because I was highly aware that he had an unobstructed view of my rain-gear-clad, shapeless glory. Hadn’t the guy ever heard of giving a girl space after the Talk? Guiltily, I thought about all the Talks I’d delivered by text. How could I have been so blasé about breakups? I really had been the Genghis Khan of boys’ hearts, and the knowledge of my callousness stung.
“Hey, Mom,” I said to her urgently, “I should walk with Grace.” Then I used those three special words that had the power to upend any photo safari with Dad and any family vacation in the past: “It’s my job.”
Fortunately, Mom nodded and traded places with me.
“Watch your footing,” Stesha said up ahead of us, pointing to an especially saturated edge of the cliff. “This could go, too.”
Our group had fallen into a meditative pace. Maybe it had something to do with no one wanting to chance another accident. Maybe the enormity of yesterday’s mudslide was only now sinking in. All I know is that there was no more casual chatter, no more trading of harrowing stories about travel nightmares. No more Ruben telling us about the terrain, the region’s history, the rich biodiversity. No more Stesha infusing us with doses of spirituality: What is your purpose here, today? My eyes remained on Grace’s muddy boots ahead of me. Somehow, I felt better hearing Mom stomping behind me, one heavy footstep after another.
“I wish your dad were here with us.” Mom sighed wearily. Only then did I turn around. I was careful to train my eyes on her and only her, not dipping anywhere close to Quattro. Her shoulders drooped, exhausted, as she caught her breath on the step.
Dad.
“We’re fine,” I assured Mom. But was Dad? I kept picturing him slipping on the mud, unable to see the trail’s edge before plunging over the cliff. Frankly, Hank as a trekking partner was almost no better than Dad hiking alone. The image of Hank stoically watching Dad fall without moving a muscle to help was so troubling, I had to focus on the rhythm of my footsteps as we continued climbing. The weather worsened, now pelting us with icy rain. My hands were frozen; I could barely move my fingers.
“So how ya doing?” I called back to Mom, who couldn’t have huddled more deeply into her gear.
“Cold, damp, and miserable,” she said.
“Okay.” Pause. “Top three words to describe the Inca Trail?”
Mom smiled wryly at me. “Cold, damp, and miserable.”
That made both of us laugh before we continued up the endless trail.
“How about you? Glad we came?” Grace asked me from up ahead.
“I’ll tell you after we’re home.” My answer reminded me of what Quattro had confided last night about his mother, how she could point out the silver lining in every cloudy condition. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he saw me and my family as the poster children of gloom and doom. Was that the real reason why I didn’t fit the bill as his girlfriend?
Over my shoulder, I asked, “How about you, Mom? Glad we came?”
“I think so.” Then Mom, with her uncanny radar for boy on my brain, said, “I bet I know someone who’s even more glad you came.”
What was with Mom and Stesha and all their precarious conversations about Quattro? It’d be beyond mortifying if he overheard. I wanted to quicken my pace, but I was trapped behind Grace, who was plodding along slower than ever. Honestly, snails on hot asphalt crawled faster.
“All I’m saying,” called Mom so loudly it would have been a miracle if a deaf person couldn’t overhear her, “is that you two seem to share a sine qua non.”
My curiosity warred with my embarrassment, and I almost, almost, almost asked, Oh, really, and what sine qua non is that? But I wasn’t about to have this conversation with Quattro in earshot. There was no time to shush Mom, though, because a frightened yelp shocked me into stopping on the trail. Even worse, I heard the alarming sound of a hiking boot losing traction on gravel. For a terrible moment, I thought we were caught in another mudslide until I watched Grace fall with a hard thud. I flinched at the sickening crack of her head hitting one of the stone steps.
“Grace!” I called out in panic.
But it wasn’t Grace who’d fallen.
It was Reb’s sure-footed and confident grandmother who lay still on the path. Grace, wearing her unmistakable leprechaun-green raincoat, was already crouching at Stesha’s side. Paralyzed on the mud-slick trail, I might as well have stared into the Gorgon’s eye of disaster and been hardened into cold marble. Where was Dad? He always knew what to do in an emergency.
Instead, my nimble soccer-playing mother sprinted up four stairs to Stesha. Meanwhile, I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Quattro had to dart around me on the rock steps.
Mom said, “Stesha! Stesha! You okay?”